


Home Is Where You Go After The Rain

by Drpepperly



Series: Kyouhaba week! [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Neighbors, return of the dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drpepperly/pseuds/Drpepperly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yahaba will always cry, Arata will always worry, little old ladies will always meddle, and Kyoutani will always come home. They're soulmates after all.</p>
<p>Kyouhaba week days 3 and 4:<br/>pets//family & team//soulmates</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where You Go After The Rain

Yahaba thinks that he probably believes in soul mates. He’s seen to many perfect couples to ever be wholly dissuaded from the concept of everyone having that one person just for them. By perfect he doesn’t mean that they don’t have issues, that would be impossible, rather that their love for each other was strong enough to draw them back together after every storm. He’d thought he had found that for himself finally. He’d thought they were that for each other, that they were home in each other’s arms.

Now he’s sitting alone in the apartment that they’ve always called theirs and Arata’s whining to the side of him, licking at his hand the way he does after every fight he and Kyoutani have. Sadly this fight isn’t anything like every other fight they’ve had. It’s raining, pounding against the windows like Yahaba’s forming headache is against his temples. He vaguely recalls Kyoutani lacking either jacket or umbrella when he left their apartment, door closing behind him with a soft click and not the slam Yahaba’s grown to expect after their fights. Yahaba can’t believe he’s actually worried about Kyoutani right now, can’t believe that his limbs twitch towards the door to rush after him with both articles in hand. It brings a biting laugh out of some dark part of his chest, bitter and humiliated.

The laughter rapidly devolves though, soon Yahaba finds himself kneeling on the floor with tears streaming down his face, choking on sobs that tear through his chest and claw at his throat. It’s raining outside and inside now. Arata’s licking his face now that it’s in reach and he’s become just as gross and messy as the relationship he’s crying for. He thinks that he should be stronger than this; he’s not a crier and never has been. When he was a child it scared his parents just how little he cried.

Kyoutani though, has always been able to make him cry. Whether out of frustration, joy, or pain, Yahaba’s tear ducts seem to be directly linked to his emotions towards this boy that even now his heart is calling out for. The first time he’d cried since elementary school had been during one of their first fights as a couple, when they weren’t smart enough to control the insults and hurt. It had shocked both of them to the point of making up almost immediately. Even now it usually got the fighting to stop so they could talk things out; he supposes that the tears won’t have their usual effect if the other party isn’t around to see them. Right now they serve to just worsen his headache and ruin his voice.

The last words Kyoutani had said are still ringing in his ears and he thinks they’re definitely the cause of his headache, that and all the shouting. He hadn’t known Kyoutani had felt that way, couldn’t possibly have understood that he would misinterpret Yahaba’s words and actions. He’s left thinking about all the things he should have said and wondering why the hell he said the things he did. Of course he knows why, anyone would have gotten defensive when being accused of such a thing. That doesn’t mean he should have though.

“Maybe everyone was right, maybe we weren’t meant for each other.”

The words make Yahaba want to start screaming again. He wants to scream, all the way to wherever Kyoutani has gone, that they were in fact meant for each other and since when did Kyoutani ever listen to what anyone else said? Since when did he allow people’s words to get to him? Since when did he lose hope that they could make it work? Since when did he stop loving Yahaba?

If Kyoutani reversed that last one on him, Yahaba knows exactly what he’d say. He has never stopped loving Kyoutani, not since day one, when he turned towards his teammate and saw a soul mate instead. As he thinks on it more it just seems less and less likely that he’d ever be able to stop loving that thick-headed asshole. Yahaba still believes whole-heartedly that they can make it work, no matter what their college team or anyone else says about them being all wrong for each other. It’s too late to tell him that now though, too late to tell him that Yahaba would never think he’s not good enough.

He tries to stop thinking about it, heaves himself up off the floor and gives Arata a few pets. The dog doesn’t stop whining though, still knows that something’s wrong, as Yahaba walks into the bathroom and does his best to clean himself up a bit. His eyes are bleary, his cheeks and nose are puffy and just covered in wetness that makes him cringe, and red seems to be the most prevalent color on his face. Tissues to clean himself off and a wet rag to bring his coloring back to normal; Yahaba doesn’t think about it and lets his hands move on their own.

Tea is the next step though he misjudges the amount of water the first time, filling the kettle with enough water for two, and pours out the extra. Getting into the cupboard is worse, hands reaching for both their mugs before he can tell them to get a guest one, can’t bring himself to drink from the mug Kyoutani had bought him for their first Christmas together, blue background with rubber duck print. Just looking at it hurts, sitting there next to the one Yahaba had bought Kyoutani a year later, blue background as well but with dogs instead of ducks.

As the water boils he sets out fresh water and food for Arata who stares up at him with his big, mournful eyes, the same color as Kyoutani’s which usually makes Yahaba laugh but just makes him want to cry again now. He hopes it doesn’t hurt his baby’s feelings that he can’t stand to look at him right now. Those eyes are just too much and too soon. The whistle of the kettle saves him from bursting into tears once more thankfully.

Steam rises from the mug as he holds it in his hands, sitting on the couch they’d bought and built together. The only noise is the steady drumming of the rain against the window he’s looking through, Arata staring through it too as if waiting for something. Yahaba knows what that something is, but acknowledging it isn’t something he allows himself to do. He sits there; quiet and desperate, as the family he’s built for himself crumbles down around his feet. When the urge to scream comes scraping back up his raw throat he takes a sip of his tea and waits for it to come crawling back up.

He goes to take a sip again when a knock sounds at the door. It’s not a scream in his throat now but rather his heart as he rises from his place while Arata bounds over to the door, barking cheerfully. His heart falls back into place once he opens the door though, finding a wrinkled, old woman where he’d hoped for a stocky, blond man. The face that Kyoutani refers to as his “Polite Company” face is on immediately as their neighbor, Mrs. Shimada, explains her lack of butter and the problem it presents when baking the cake she’s currently in the middle making.

Ever the gentleman, Yahaba of course ushers her in to wait while he got the butter she wanted ready. He likes the Shimadas, they’re good people and an excellent romantic example with over 50 years of marriage under their belts who still act like high schoolers to each other. Mrs. Shimada and he get along especially well, her referring to him as the grandson she never got whenever she can. It’s no surprise that she notices something is wrong.

“Certainly is quiet now, I suppose Kentaro has stormed off then?” She gives him a look over the rims of her glasses. When he says nothing, she presses on with a glance to Arata who’s gone back to staring out the window, “Must have been quiet a fight to get even Arata so worked up. I remember having fights like that, back in the day Hisoka and I went at each other like no one’s business, still do I suppose just much quieter since we don’t have the energy for yelling no more.”

Yahaba doesn’t comment, has seen the way the Shimadas bicker and knows it’s nothing like what happened today. Seeing that Yahaba’s pretending to focus on cutting butter still, Mrs. Shimada gives an exasperated sigh, “You’re so much like my Hisoka, so polite and sensitive. Always made it hard to understand why I would ever fight with him when he’d look at me with those watery eyes. Shigeru dear, no matter how bad a fight gets, we spitfires don’t know when to call it quits. Kentaro will come back, and if he doesn’t, well then he’s not the man either of us thought he was. And you know that I’m an excellent judge of character.”

A smile twitches at his lips despite the pain still in his head and heart, Mrs. Shimada’s confidence is always contagious. He hands her the butter she needs and receives a hug in return, whispers a thank you to her as they pull away. She gets that wise look in her eyes that all grandmothers seem to have mastered and leaves with a few last comments, “Of course dear, now if it gets too quiet over I’ll come back over and check on you so you’d best start making a racket. Don’t make it too loud though, since that blasted rain has finally stopped I’ll be able to hear just fine.”

He ushers her out with a smile and looks back at the window to find that Mrs. Shimada was right, the rain is starting to let up, down to a fine sprinkle outside. No matter how much Mrs. Shimada’s visit cheered him up, he still can’t bring himself to do much more than stare out the window and finish his now lukewarm tea. Arata comes away from the window after a time, settling onto the coach next to him. Yahaba finds the dog’s warmth more reassuring now than ever, this little pup the proof that they made a commitment to one another. He’s proof that they promised to try, to never stop trying, and to always come back. 

A few hours pass like that. Yahaba’s stomach rumbles, echoing against the walls decorated with pictures of them. No matter what turmoil the head and heart experience, the stomach wants what the stomach wants and so he finds himself in the kitchen. He accidentally grabs enough food to cook for two, but this time he doesn’t correct it, figures Kyoutani can reheat once he finally drags his ass home. A little tune pushes itself past his lips as he cooks, the one that always comes to mind, the first song they ever danced to. It had happened right there in their kitchen.

There’s another knock on the door, he supposes he wasn’t being loud enough to satisfy Mrs. Shimada, and he goes to open it after turning the stove off. What he finds behind the door is not a wrinkled, old lady. Before him stands a stout, dripping wet, blond man with intense eyes that lock onto Yahaba’s immediately. The words that were on the tip of Yahaba’s tongue die. Instead of speaking, he finds himself throwing his arms around shivering body currently soaking the hallway floor.

The body beneath his arms is stiff at first before arms thick with muscles from years of volleyball wrap around Yahaba’s waist. The voice that speaks low in his ears is as hoarse as Yahaba’s throat feels, “You’re gonna get yourself wet, idiot.”

“And which one here is the idiot already soaked to the bone?” He whispers back, tightening his grip as Kyoutani tries to pull away.

They’re silent for a second; the only sound is Arata yipping cheerfully around their feet. Then the shivering of Kyoutani’s body turns to shaking and a choked sob comes from the throat he’s got his arms around, “I’m sorry, Shigeru, I’m so sorry.”

His own eyes start to get bleary as they pull each other even tighter, if that’s possible at this point, “Me too, I’m sorry, Kentaro.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. Would you like some dinner?”

At that Kyoutani pulls back, a clearly confused look in his eyes, “You made me dinner?”

Yahaba just smiles, more sure of himself than ever, “Of course I did, I knew you’d come back. We’re soul mates after all.”

Kyoutani doesn’t say a word, just pulls them back together and this time their lips meet and Kyoutani tastes like rain and tears and the coffee they always buy from the café down the street. Yahaba thinks that he probably never wants to let go of Kyoutani again because he has most definitely found a home in these arms. He has most definitely found his soul mate in the boy dripping water on the rug they bought second hand their first month of living together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hemingway app says this reads like 9th grade writing and I'm offended. I decided to have this count as both today's prompt and yesterday's prompt cause I missed yesterday and have almost no motivation at all. Fuck hemingway app.


End file.
